We head back to the parking lot. Thea stays right beside me, walking her powder-blue bike. I feel safer with her there, and then I feel pathetic for feeling this way. This soft, weird, long-haired girl thinks that she’s protecting me. I’m letting myself think so, too.

She walks me to my car.

“Drive carefully,” she says as I get behind the wheel. “I’ll be right behind you.”

I drive home about ten miles under the speed limit.

I keep checking the rearview mirror. There’s nothing behind me, as far as I can see. Including a girl on a blue bike. Of course, even with me going only forty miles per hour, there’s no way she’d be able to keep up with me. Right?

As soon as I bump into our driveway, the phone in my pocket starts to buzz. It buzzes and buzzes. Ping ping ping. I pull it out as I head up the walk and unlock the front door.

There are five messages from Jezz, plus one missed call.

- Where are u? Patrick and I are at my place

- Call us

- NOW

- OK just check yr email

- Check it and then call us. We can’t waste any more time.

Jesus. What now?

I glance back at the road, damp and pearly with mist. There’s no one there. Of course not. On her bike, it should take Thea several minutes to catch up with me.

I step into the entry and lock the front door behind me. The stillness in the air reminds me that Mom and Dad aren’t home; that I’ll be alone here for hours. I bolt down the hall to my room.

It takes forever for the crappy old computer to fire up. Long enough that my head is swirling with a million confusing possibilities by the time I finally get to my email.

Jezz has sent one message with an attachment. The subject line reads: “Psycho Stalker.”

I open it.

We know what happened to Frankie, says the note. It was that girl. Thea. Check it out.

There’s a list of links pasted below.

I glance over my shoulder. For a second I’m sure I’m going to find her face at the window, staring straight back in at me, even though I know that’s not possible yet. There’s nothing through the pane but the usual view of brown-black trees, stretching away into darkness.

Still, just in case, I lunge out of the chair and pull the curtains closed. Then I switch out the lights, so only the glow of the computer tints the room. I dive back into my desk chair and click the first link.

It’s the police blotter from some small town in Wisconsin, three years ago. Someone named Josiah Malcolm was held in Beltram County Jail for disturbing the peace. The next link is another newspaper, another town, another police blotter. Josiah Malcolm, cited for public intoxication and disturbing the peace. I skim as fast as I can. The third is a slightly longer article, mentioning Josiah Malcolm, 48, who was arrested while standing knee deep in the Arapahana River, screaming about the wrath of God and the works of Satan, after making a series of threats against some local church group. I’m starting to wonder what the hell any of this has to do with Thea, but then the article mentions that Josiah Malcolm’s fifteen-year-old daughter was with him at the time of the arrest.